I'm in a rut. It's funny, because just a year ago I was working as a bartender, daydreaming of having a regular 9 to 5, with evenings to spend with friends and weekends to crank out brilliant stories. A year later, I feel discontent with my job, with my writing career and prospects, my finances, and my future in general.
I've never been good at saving money, and I've always used the excuse that I don't get any help from my parents - with student loans or rent or bills - as the reason my net worth is laughable at best. The truth is, I still spend like a teenager who has all the time in the world. Lately, with my whole life at a desk job folding out before me, the prospects of grad school dwindling with each new undergrad loan bill, and a new love to raise my standards for living, I've felt inadequate. Why didn't I scrounge every allowance, every cent I didn't spend on gas in high school, every hard-earned tip from late nights at the Tavern? Do I really need three pairs of jeans and countless pairs of shoes and dresses I don't wear enough to justify? How many boxes of cookies have I bought and pooped out? How many store bought cups of coffee could I have made at a fraction of the cost?
I hate money. I hate the way it changes things, experiences, people, attitudes, especially my own. I hate the way I obsess, the way I pity myself, the way I assume others have it easier.
Today is a call for a change.